by Rob Preece
"I'm afraid you're right. My alliance with Harrison is one of expedience rather than reality. Sooner or later, he'd move to destroy me."
"But now, it seems that I'll destroy you first."
Sullivan waved a hand at the army encamped on his side of the river. They were digging in, much as Sergius's army had fortified itself. “You defeated me in front of Dinan. You and your mages made a fool out of me, trapped me as neatly as a weasel traps a rat. But do you really think you can beat this army? My mages won't be fooled a second time. Soon, you'll run low on food while my supply lines remain open. I have only to outwait you."
Sergius shrugged. “I've more than made up the casualties I suffered in the battle at Dinan. The longer I wait, the more barons flock to my banner. With the barons come the fruits of their lands. For many, the Battle of Dinan proves that I am my father's son. And few would bet on Sullivan against the Fell Prince."
Sullivan's smile didn't look real but he gave it his best shot. “It seems that we have a stalemate. You can't defeat me, but the two of us could tear at each other, doing so much damage that Harrison and his Rissel allies could have nothing to do but pick up the pieces. Like a jackal on a wounded wolf."
"What about your Rissel allies?” Ellie demanded.
Sullivan's eyes widened as he looked at Ellie. “I had wondered why you brought a lad to our council. So this is the famous witch-princess?"
Ellie glared at him. Lubica women wore elaborate gowns that were impractical for anything and impossible for riding or practicing martial arts. So she stuck with her blue jeans or local trousers. Right then, she was wearing jeans and a loose tunic that was something like a martial arts gi. It wasn't exactly flattering that all of the hunky guys mistook her for a boy, but it had its practical uses. Lubica wasn't exactly liberated.
Sullivan met her stare but gave up after a moment. “Interesting. In answer to your question, witch-princess, the Rissel favor Harrison and not me. He's married to a Rissel princess, after all. They bring me aid, but demand money for it. And after you destroyed several of their ships in the Dinan harbor, they became even less happy with me."
"Very touching,” Sergius said. “But so far you've sent two armies against me and I destroyed both of them without much loss to myself. You may not believe that I can defeat you, but you're wrong. I'll destroy your army, then pick up its remains and use that to defeat your brother."
Sullivan stared at Sergius's encampment, his blue eyes assessing its strength.
"Why would you want to do that, nephew? Why must we fight when I'm ready to swear my allegiance and join in the battle to rid the nation of Harrison and the evil Rissel?"
* * * *
Dinan threw open its gates.
Sergius's army marched in to the cheers of the city and the respectful silence of its garrison.
Ellie knew how close their army had come to complete defeat. Mark's trap had been brilliant, but it had worked largely because Sullivan's troops had been surprised had and panicked. Even then, the light cavalry charge had nearly broken the trap—not to mention getting her, Mark, and Sergius killed.
If Sullivan had used the remains garrison to attack again after the army had really marched away, his initial plan would have worked perfectly. Even that battered garrison could have overwhelmed the weak guard left on the camp and come up behind them. With Sullivan's intact field army on one side of the bridge and the garrison behind them, Sergius would have been destroyed.
But their victory at the gates of Dinan had done more than kill a number of Sullivan's soldiers. They'd put a scare into the soldiers. It turned out that Sullivan had ordered them to sally again and the garrison had mutinied against the order. Thanks to Mark's plans, and thanks to Robert E. Lee, Sergius had begun to develop a reputation as the successor to his deadly father.
So Sullivan had decided to change his play—to become kingmaker, to gain what he could by swallowing his pride and joining Sergius. After all, Sergius was still young and could be manipulated. Sullivan would have plenty of time to plot later. And Sergius was still unmarried and childless. Sullivan was next in line to the throne as long as his older brother, the Duke of Harrison remained in rebellion.
It didn't take magic to read Sullivan's thoughts. He cared about only one thing—his own survival. For now, at least, latching onto Sergius seemed the best option. Between Mark's tactical insights, the strength of their combined armies, and the increasing number of barons throwing their support behind Sergius, Ellie thought Sullivan was making a wise choice.
As the days went by without Sergius making his announcement of a parliament for the people, Ellie wondered if she'd made such a wise choice in throwing her lot with him. Not that she'd had a great number of options. She'd given up her plans for revenge for her parents and replaced it with the goal of helping the people of this nation. Could it really be that she'd get nothing for her efforts?
She confronted Sergius as he, his uncle, and the increasing clutter of nobles, priests and clerks headed for a celebratory dinner two weeks after their arrival in Dinan.
"Ah, the witch princess again.” Sullivan turned on his charm like a lightbulb. “Will you sit beside me tonight?"
"Perhaps.” She wasn't naive enough to believe that Sullivan wanted her charming company. The man was a hunk on the outside, but on the inside he was a human calculator, looking only to find advantage. If he wanted to spend time with Ellie, it was because he thought it could help him.
"I wonder if I could have a moment, Your Majesty?” Although they'd been casual on the campaign, things had become a bit more formal since Sullivan had joined them. Her friend, Baronet Arnold continually reminded her that she could catch more flies with honey than with the martial arts.
"Certainly,” Sergius said. “I'll always make time for the princess who came out of time to prove my cause and who, not incidentally, saved my life."
He spoke loudly enough to be heard everywhere and Ellie supposed she should be grateful. In the semi-medieval environment, praise from a King was important. It opened doors, made others listen and obey. Whoever has the ear of a King is a power regardless of their social standing. Which was exactly why she was so intent on pushing her parliament idea.
Sergius made brushing motions to the courtiers who surrounded him and they grudgingly backed away. A few weeks ago, access to this King had meant nothing. But now, when it looked like the united forces of Sullivan and Sergius might prevail, proximity had become precious.
"We had a deal, Your Majesty,” Ellie reminded him. “We capture Dinan and you'd announce the formation of a parliament for the people as well as for the nobility. It's been two weeks since Mark and I kept our part of the deal."
Sergius nodded seriously. “Believe me, Ellie, I haven't forgotten my promise. I'm still looking for the right time. If we'd defeated Sullivan's main army in battle, that would have been the occasion. Since we parlayed rather than conquering, I'm not as strong as I hoped to be. The barons are shifting to me, but they will back away if I push too hard on their ancient privileges. We need an event, another victory that will make me unassailable. If I lost the Barons, I'd lose Sullivan. And then I'd be back where we started."
He clapped Ellie on the shoulder and insisted that she sit next to him at the banquet—and she realized that he wasn't that different from his uncle.
Chapter 12
The bishop, carrying the keys to the capital, came to Dinan a few days later. He groveled, attempted to ingratiate himself to Sergius, and ordered Lawgrave back to Moray.
He didn't have many soldiers to offer, maybe five hundred men in the Moray city guard, but control of the capital was important.
With the south firmly in the hands of Sergius, Sullivan, and their allies, tax revenue had started to come in again. The Rissel were antagonistic, but merchants were merchants. Dinan harbor bustled with ships carrying military supplies, foodstuffs, and luxury goods—and the King claimed his ten percent on everything.
Ellie and Lawgrave
had crowned Sergius in the field with the support of the army. It was a valid tradition. Something that the Roman Emperors of Ellie's universe would have understood and something that Ellie's long-dead blood-father Mucius might have experienced. But it was a tradition that was largely forgotten in Lubica. A ‘real’ coronation, in the great Cathedral, would please the people, give the Barons a chance to show off their wives and, even more importantly, introduce their daughters to the handsome and single King. Best of all, it would cement the reality that Harrison's claims to regency status were bogus.
Two months before, Ellie and Dafed had snuck into the city and kidnapped the wanna-be King. Now, they marched in, led by trumpets. Then, the city had slumbered. Now, it seemed that the entire city was on the streets, cheering as the King, the army, and the Barons made their way to the cathedral. Then, the King had been an uncrowned token in the game of thrones, while Ellie had been the bishop's miracle of the day. Now, the King was regarded as a fitting son of his father, the Fell Prince. And Ellie had become the Rissel's bete-noire.
The gray stone of Moray's city walls gleamed in the sunlight, and brightly colored banners hung from every guard tower. The dozens of parish churches scattered through the city echoed the cathedral bells. Even the stench of human waste in a medieval-technology city with limited sewer resources had been reduced by a heavy rain that had fallen the day before Sergius had arrived and then cleared to bright sunlight.
Sergius marched with the army.
He had learned a lot in the weeks since Ellie had kidnapped him. But the most important lesson was to remember who had put him in power. The Barons had made a token effort. Arnold and his fellow knights were evidence of that. But most of that support was second or third sons—insurance while the nobility had banked their main hopes with either Sullivan or Harrison. The army had won the kingdom for Sergius.
Behind the army, the Barons and their families rode. Following them, the guildmasters and master craftsmen of the city marched, picking their way through the horse manure left behind by their ‘betters.’ A lot of the ordinary citizens tagged along afterwards although there would be room for few of them even in the vastness of the Moray Cathedral.
* * * *
Ellie had never been to Europe and had only seen pictures of the Gothic Cathedrals there. Those photos didn't begin to prepare her for the shear opulence of this huge church. Its doors were gold—whether solid or leaf-coated, she couldn't tell. A vast dome was also gilded with gold. And each of the thousands of statues of saints and angels was painted with sparkling color.
The constantly ringing bells were an almost solid presence, their vibrations shaking the ground as the procession approached the cathedral.
Sergius tossed his horse's reins to a waiting baron, then leapt down from his horse and clasped his uncle's arms.
The army cheered as Sergius climbed the steps of the cathedral, then turned to face them. His golden hair streamed long behind him and his tunic showed off the hardened muscles two months in the saddle had added to his frame.
He raised his muscled arms over his head letting the applause swell, basking in the moment, and then he lowered his arms, abruptly cutting it off.
"You have made me King and I shall be your King, the army's King,” he promised, his battlefield voice cutting through the crowd. “After the coronation, your Sergeants will distribute a gold coin to every soldier in the army. For those of you who joined when all seemed lost, the band of brothers who marched from this city with me two months ago, two gold pieces only begins to express my gratitude. Enjoy my city, your city, but please don't destroy it. I'll need it if I'm to continue to provide you with this kind of reward."
The army loved Sergius's praise, but his money was even more welcome. Ellie hadn't realized the tax situation was so good although, of course, Sergius might have hit up the bishop for a loan. The church looked rich enough to support three armies the size of Sergius's.
After five minutes of solid cheering, Sergius proceeded into the church followed by the army sergeants, the priests, and then the nobility and the city's elite.
"Excellent speech,” Ellie whispered to the King as he strode past her toward the altar. “Too many leaders forget the people who put them in power—and find that the army is willing to back someone else who won't forget them."
"I don't forget my friends,” Sergius promised. “Or my enemies."
Sergius had said he was waiting for an event to announce his formation of a parliament of the commons and Ellie didn't think you could get much more event-like than this so she reminded him of his promise.
He smiled at her. “I've been discussing this with my advisors. It is nearly time. Once I've been crowned and the Barons swear fealty, I'll hit them with it. With support from the army, the nobles, and the people, no one could assail me."
Ellie nodded, but she couldn't help feeling a small doubt. She would have preferred Sergius want to listen to the people rather than think of them as a counterweight to the nobles.
Even if Sergius had forgotten or forgiven, Ellie couldn't help remembering all of the peasants Sullivan had slaughtered, just to make things a little more difficult for Sergius as he approached Dinan. She could understand the political expediency that let Sergius embrace the man who'd committed these criminal acts, but she didn't like it.
Sergius had been staring at her while she thought and she nodded quickly. “Excellent plan, Sire."
His half-grimace let her know he'd followed her thoughts. But he turned away quickly, flashing his smile at the Bishop. “You may proceed."
The Bishop wore a crimson robe and his small army of priests all wore black. They carried in the crown, which Sergius had reluctantly parted with, as well as a flail and hammer symbolizing royal authority.
Ellie barely managed to suppress a smile. On the Earth where she'd been raised, the combined hammer and sickle represented the worker and farmer, reflecting the fundamental reality that power came from working people rather than from the nobility. The Soviet Communism that had embraced and perverted those symbols had failed, but the idea of power coming from the working people rather than the nobility was still valid. Although Lubica might have forgotten the origins of those symbols, Ellie hadn't. If the King were to rule effectively and well, he would rule with the people and for the people.
She'd done her best to tell Sergius that and to give him some ideas on how he might accomplish it if he wanted to. She could only hope that the magic of this ceremony would strengthen the King's determination to keep his promise.
Certainly the bishop's words wouldn't. For the bishop, the flail represented not an agricultural implement, but the King's power of judgment. Which wasn't a complete misreading. After all, flails are used to separate wheat from the chaff. That wheat could be real, or it could be metaphorical—people separated for judgment. According to the bishop, the hammer was supposed to represent Sergius's need to hammer out opponents of the faith.
* * * *
Ellie wondered if she was the only one who noticed that there wasn't any magical manifestation to the coronation.
When she and Lawgrave had crowned Sergius, purple flares had arched for yards around them signifying and magically creating the bond between king and country. But when the bishop pressed the flail and hammer into Sergius’ hands and pressed the crown down on his head, there was nothing.
Maybe the magic only worked one time and she and Lawgrave had already summoned it. But the flail and hammer both gleamed with their own jewels—jewels that looked suspiciously like the dimensional gems that mages, including her, used to focus their magical energies.
She wondered if the bishop didn't know about the magical potential of these objects. She hadn't seen Lawgrave since the Bishop had taken his place at Sergius’ side so she couldn't ask the one priest she trusted.
The bishop didn't mention anything about the consent of the nobility, consent of the army, or consent of the people. Instead, he gave a long sermon on the role of the king as pr
otector of the church and left it at that.
An hour later, the King was official. He kissed the bishop's ring, tossed the flail and hammer to Ellie, and had two of the sergeants carry out a heavy chest.
Not unexpectedly, the chest was filled with cloth bags that gave pleasant tinkles as he lifted each, read the name of the sergeant on the label, and handed out the promised donativum with almost as much ceremony as the bishop had used in his coronation.
He offered a bag to Ellie, who shook her head, and then to Mark, who took it.
Mark gave her a strange look when she turned down that bag of gold. Obviously, a mall security guard doesn't make so much money he can turn down enough gold to buy a house. For that matter, an unemployed martial artist doesn't, either.
But the money looked like a payoff to her, and Ellie didn't want Sergius to think that she would take anything as a substitute for delivering on his promises. He might see the wisdom of buying the support of the people, but Ellie knew enough history to realize that Kings are leery of sharing power, especially with people who aren't from their class.
That wasn't the only reason, though. Even if Sergius had already announced the parliament, she couldn't have taken the gold. Growing up, she'd never seriously considered the possibility of using her martial arts for real, to kill or maim others. Now, she'd done it more times than she could count. More than she could count awake, anyway. Because her dreams were haunted by the ghosts of every man she'd killed.
Each battle had been a blur of action while it happened. She let her martial arts training serve her, protect her, and also give her a bit of distance from the brutal reality of killing and maiming. But that distance faded at night as she sought sleep.
If she took Sergius's blood money for what she'd done, she wondered if she'd ever be able to sleep again.
"Less to pay back, then,” Sergius said when he looked down at the single bag of gold left at the bottom of the chest. “I'll be spending the next couple of days taking fealty from the nobles, clergy, and guilds. You sure you don't want to take the gold and relax? Last chance."